


Chasing Salvation

by BlueCursedMoon



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Angst, Character Death, Emotional/Psychological Abuse, F/M, Hogwarts Era, Hogwarts Fifth Year, Hogwarts Prefects, Hogwarts Sixth Year, Physical Abuse, Secondary Character Unrequited Love, Slow Burn, Torture, Werewolf Draco Malfoy, Werewolf Mates, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-01-28
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-14 04:55:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 10,081
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29040486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueCursedMoon/pseuds/BlueCursedMoon
Summary: Draco struggles with the harsh consequences of the Malfoy family failing to meet Voldemort's expectations.  With so much already lost can he risk ruining his only chance at salvation? Or was it madness to think the Golden Girl could ever accept the cursed man he was?
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Draco Malfoy
Comments: 10
Kudos: 28





	1. Yesterday

# Chapter 1: Yesterday 

* * *

A small hiss escaped through his gritted teeth as he used his emerald green flannel to gingerly pat his face dry. Grey eyes glared at the dark discoloration that marred his usual pristine porcelain complexion. Madam Pomfrey had warned him that he would be bruised when she had reset his nose last night. He had hoped the old witch had exaggerated in a futile attempt to administer guilt as medicine. After all these years, there should be no surprise to the Matron that Draco Malfoy was involved in yet another unauthorized duel. When she had finished lecturing him and handed him the salve; she had been transparent in the irony of his injury. She thought his state was a fitting punishment for sticking his nose where she believed he had no business. However, hypocrisy was a prerequisite in order to be hired to work at Hogwarts. Not a single professor was immune to it. Draco had been on the wrong side of the preferential favor the moment his name was written in the Book of Admittance. What was one more lecture about his fucking behavior while under the Headmistress’s directions? Draco was well aware the attitude most of the faculty had about the Inquisitorial Squad. 

It had been his father’s directive to join the group. Every Malfoy heir needed to insert themselves in positions of opportunity. Of course, Draco had reveled in the extra privilege and power. He surmised having a leadership role during an inaugural year of a Ministry run program was the perfect investment of his time. His father guaranteed the Inquisitorial Squad was the best path to ensure the right doors were open to him after school. 

Although, those favors might be sealed off from him now. How much value did Draco add to the Ministry when he had let Dumbledore’s Army weasel free after one bloody awful hex? He grimaced through applying the medicine as delicately as possible on his tender nose and under his puffy blacken eyes. He knew a verbal lashing from Umbridge awaited him as soon as he crossed her deranged warpath. Draco sighed as he collected his toiletries from the male Slytherin washroom. Faint whispers from the common room did little to ease his mind. There was some relief that he had not run into any of his housemates. Only two of his dormmates were still in bed. The cacophony of Crabbe and Goyle’s snores were unmistakable and regrettably loud. Even though Draco made no attempt to stifle the noise he made getting his clothes out for the day, his oldest mates were dead asleep. 

There were moments where he envied their ability to be so unconcerned. If ignorance is bliss, then their level of obliviousness must be nirvana. Draco was cursed with a living hell of anxiety born from intelligence. Draco knew his fate was dependent on the severity of the punishment the toady Headmistress doled out. Would last night cost him his role as Prefect? Head Boy prospects? The abominable pink witch would be no match against his father’s ire for that level of disappointment. No matter how deep her quill cut; Lucius Malfoy would lacerate him into pieces.

Merlin, he wracked his brain to find some explanation to lessen the sting of the embarrassment from how quickly a Weasley had bested him as he buttoned up his shirt. That bint needed to be locked up in St Mungo's. When the first of those disgusting bats began to bombard him, he knew he was no match for the creativity of the runt of the weasel litter. The level of derangement required to conjure up turning snot into bats was certifiably insane. It served as proof that anyone residing at the nuthouse known as the Burrow should never leave. He hardly could believe that his night had not been interrupted with Umbridge wanting to put him on trial. He could not help but ponder as he knotted his tie, what was Dumbeldore’s weapon? How impressive it must be to overshadow the punishment for the failure in babysitting a few lion cubs for a couple of hours?

Draco gave himself one last once over in the full-length mirror in the room. It was the best he could do. He scowled wishing that he paid more attention to any of the spells witches used in their beauty routines. Some witchy charm to mask a few blemishes might work for the black eyes he sported. To search out Pansy’s charmwork made him feel like a beggar. They were separated—again. Draco knew to attempt to recall some incantation from memory would be a careless mistake. The last thing he needed was to be covered in spots or be a glimmering shade of English rose from a botched attempt to make himself presentable. 

The glacial pace of the gaggle of Hufflepuff witches was irritating as he waited to enter the Great Hall. He could not care less what they each missed of their mother’s cooking. They really needed more excitement in their lives if this counted for riveting discussion in that house. He used these vapid girls’ slow pace to at least scout out the room. Umbridge’s place had not been set out by the house elves. It was unusual for the conceited Headmistress to be missing at this hour. That pink toad delighted in glaring down at the kingdom she stole from a halfwit. If she had found Dumbledore’s secret weapon, then she would not have missed an opportunity to sit triumphantly this morning. Her absence meant more had developed last night. Draco’s attention left the gossiping Professors and started analyzing the lower tables. 

Draco took a moment to glance out of the corner of his eye to spy on the Gryffindorks. He could hardly believe the sight before him at their table. Most of their faces were sullen and ragged. A few of them were in the clothes they wore yesterday. How disgusting. Their exposed skins were dusted with scrapes. Did any of them bathe themselves? Their slow movements hinted that he wasn’t alone in being riddled with bruises. Granger was missing from the morose Potter posse. Odd. Draco was amazed that the blundering duo could make to the Great Hall without the brains of the Golden Trio nannying Potter and Weasley. All the remaining Dumbledore’s Army members were focused on _blessed Saint Potter_ mid breakdown. Looney Lovegood was attempting to coax the prat who lived to drink something. He was blubbering something awful. Even the dense Weasley had refrained from stuffing his face. Draco was unsure why the emotional lion pride had bothered coming down to the Great Hall at all. 

Shifting focus to his own house Draco tried to see if there was an empty spot he could claim. He was in luck; one was across from Blaise. Even better his back could be towards the Gryffindors. He would surely lose his appetite if he had to continue to watch that melodramatic gang of imbeciles. 

“Morning.” Draco quietly nodded to his housemates as he served himself a cup of tea.

Draco heard the sharp intake of breath from Theodore next to him. Draco saw his classmate’s clenched hand grow bright white in anger. Theodore got up without a word and disappeared into the hall. Draco raised an eyebrow to Blaise hoping for some clarification. 

“I was wondering if you were going to sleep through all the excitement.” Blaise drawled as he swirled his remaining pumpkin juice in his goblet.

Draco only stirred his tea waiting for his friend to continue.

“Well, let us see…” Blaise stalled for dramatic effect as he put his goblet down. 

“My personal favorite—” Blaise leaned forward as if it was a secret.

“Umbridge may or may not be a Centaur’s bride. Although, I don’t think there's enough firewhiskey in the world to lead any creature to have that poor of judgment.” Blaise's comments were met with a few chuckles in agreement.

“You have to pity the monged bastard to see that face in the morning. Her starkers—Ugg. I’d--” Blaise’s tale was quickly interrupted.

“Blaise, enough.” Pansy groused at Blaise as the table cringed at the most revolting of mental images.

Blaise should be forced to offer obliviating services to the table as penance. But he only smiled in false sweetness to Pansy in response. Pansy had been sitting on the other side of Theodore before he left. She moved closer to Draco. Her hand went to reach out to him in a deluded hope he wanted her. Before she made a fool of herself, she hesitated and awkwardly rested her hand between them on the bench. Draco couldn’t help but to think this is why mothers warned about feeding strays attention. 

“…There is talk. Apparently, there was a fight at the Ministry.” It was the same tone Pansy used when cross. 

“By talk—Pansy means to say there been speculation of hospitalizations, arrests, and deaths; but sure. It was _just a fight_.” Blaise stared pointedly at Pansy. 

Draco took too large of a gulp of the strong earl tea. He flinched as he swallowed the scalding drink; but his focus had been drawn back to the Professor’s table. So, things were definitely amiss. Whatever the professors knew, they were guarding it like a dog with its last bone. He wasn’t sure what the point of keeping the students in suspense. Bad news does not get sweeter with time. Even the densest of students could see that there had to be some threads of truth to the rumors. He knew the Inquisitorial Squad had not put up much of a fight last night. So, Potter’s merry band of morons’ current state of distress did not come from anything that happened on Hogwarts’ ground. It was almost end of term. Haughty Potter was overdue with a run-in with the Dark Lord. It was practically tradition at this rate. 

“We don’t know who for sure. I heard so many different names being said. It could just be Dumbledore propaganda.” It appeared Pansy was sustaining herself on denial for breakfast for her figure’s sake. 

The amount of effort to keep Draco’s eyes from rolling should not be required before noon. She wanted to focus on a removed Headmaster than what was the actual gossip. He could feel the heat of how many eyes were on him. She just couldn’t dare say it was his father’s name in the whispers of the gossip hounds. He shifted farther away from her as he could on the bench.

“Mostly, they are talking about your father and Nott’s being arrested. There might have been a few deaths though. Potter has been moaning all morning about Sirius Black and how it’s all his fault. Daphne saw Granger was injured in the Hospital Wing.” Blaise supplied in an uninterested tone. At least one friend wasn’t going to pander to him like he was a toddler.

“I’m sure it has been grossly exaggerated. You’ll see, Draco, when you write your father. This will be all cleared up. There is no way Longbottom could help arrest anyone.” Her dismissive tone had been meant to spark a resurgence of confidence within, but he only felt hollow. 

“See how much you miss; attempting to get a few more hours of beauty sleep?” Blaise tsked at Draco. 

“Well, see how long you sleep if the batty Weaselette hexed you straight to Pomfrey?” Draco could not hide his annoyance as he started to fill his plate with his breakfast.

There had been too many people who had witnessed yesterday’s mistake. There was no way to spin that tale positively. 

“Well, at least I wouldn’t scream in terror like a first year witch in the Forbidden Forrest because of a little Gryffindor.” Blaise finished his mockery with a fake falsetto cry.

“Blaise—really?” Pansy huffed at Blaise’s immaturity. She shook her head in disapproval as she slid down the bench to speak to Tracey deciding they were no longer worth her time this morning. 

Draco put his first fork full of eggs in his mouth. He noticed his friend's attention had darted to the hexing witch across the room. Certain things weren’t ever mentioned. No snide remark could be made of what noise Blaise would make if he got the attention he wanted from that specific Gryffindor. Of course, that vixen would rather wear Blaise’s bollocks as earrings. He did pity such an idiotic choice. The poor bloke should have known better than to fancy a ginger lioness. However, there was some loyalty in the vipers’ pit; so, it would be left unsaid.

“I was about to lose my appetite. Did you break every mirror with your face this morning? Mate? I thought we had standards.” Blaise’s jest made the table laugh. 

Draco nodded his thanks for Blaise’s quick flick of the wrist. With Blaise’s mother, Draco was not surprised with Blaise’s knowledge of beauty charms. At least, Draco didn’t have to face the rest of Hogwarts with his two black eyes prominently on display while the whispers about his father multiplied. Another debt to pay Blaise. Usually, all that would be required would be a few more frequent floo visits to the Zabini Estate. There were many summer holidays Blaise’s mother was too busy romancing her next husband. Not all of Mrs. Zabini’s suitors had any interest in adopting or humoring a teenage stepson. Playing house was the last thing on a wizard’s mind when they were in hot pursuit of the most desired witch of the era. It was no secret between friends that Blaise despised summers were house elves were his most frequent company.

There was little joy to be had as he listened to Pansy and Tracey desperately plan their next shopping trip. Pansy had gushed over Daphne’s diamond stud earrings she received for completing her O.W.L. Others might comment that the conversation was superficial. They missed the point. It helped to conceal the severity of things when the focus was on trivial matters at a time like this. Slytherins knew the importance of controlling a conversation. No one wanted to give a hint that there was a possibility their parent could be sitting in Azkaban or worse dead. This was a necessary distraction as they each waited for the proverbial shoe to drop. Draco should have kept his attention above. The blow came from his mother’s copper and white barn owl, Aquila. The graceful bird swooped down to deposit a letter before flying out. It felt more substantial than mere parchment. Draco broke the wax seal of the Malfoy crest on the envelope and began to read the elegant script that could only belong to his mother. 

* * *

_**Draco,**_

_**The barrister came to inform me that your father has been arrested. I cannot meet you at the station when you return. Keep out of sight as much as possible on the Platform. Be safe my darling.** _

_**Love** _

* * *

The avalanche of emotions punched him in the gut. Salazar! He wanted to storm over to where Potter was basking in sympathy and break his damn nose. Whatever mission the Dark Lord had sent his father on had been ruined by the fact Draco had let Dumbledore’s fucking Army slip through his fingers. It would be only a matter of time before so many of the Slytherin house would despise him and his father. Draco folded the letter and placed it firmly into the pockets of his trousers. It was unbelievable that Potter freely mourned over a man who had rotted in Azkaban for most of their lives. Draco tried to ignore the jealousy he felt when Potter sobbed. Didn’t lions know to lick their wounds in their own fucking common room? Draco hated that Potter thought the entirety of the castle was a stage to revolve around the problems of the boy who was just too stubborn to die.

* * *


	2. Thunder

# Chapter 2: Thunder 

* * *

The hard jolt of the train intensified Draco’s dread. The roar of the departure whistle drowned out all else as it reverberated in his head. The pressure was becoming unbearable to his ears. As if he dove too far into the Black Lake. His life felt like a current too strong to challenge. He wasn’t sure if he ever felt so powerless. It had barely been a week and any influence the Malfoy name had been drained faster than the Weasley’s vault during the beginning of term. 

He couldn’t count how many of his peers had papers with his father’s mug shot on them. The emptiness and fear in his father’s eyes as he flinched on the page over and over again taunted Draco. It did not matter that there had been eleven others in custody. No, that picture was priceless. Nothing added more galleons to the Daily Prophet’s bottom line like another exposé centered on the rise and fall of Lucius Malfoy. His father had made enemies along his path and they were happy to revel in his misfortune. The excitement for the upcoming trial was palpable. It was not hard to see the divisions within his house. Fractions were forming between those who wanted to maintain their neutrality, those who didn’t want their alliances to be made public yet, and those whose ties were now plastered on the tabloids. 

He wished that he could have just flooed home from Hogwarts. He lost count of the amount of exceptions the newly reinstated Headmaster gave Potter over the years. Why could the old bat not have some sympathy for three Slytherins? Did Dumbledore care that Malfoy, Nott, and Crabbe had a nine-hour miserable trip with reporters waiting for them at the platform? Of course not. The more pictures and articles surrounding Voldemort’s return was better for the ancient fool. It didn’t concern the Headmaster that Theodore had lost his mother years ago and had no one to go home to that mattered. Only officially sanctioned orphans get to break the rules for their benefit. 

Thankfully, his friends knew that Draco just needed time to wallow in his misery. Blaise was engrossed in some adventure novel ignoring Crabbe and Goyle’s game of wizarding chess. Well—it might be a stretch to call it chess with the way those two played. Their sole purpose in the game was just to watch the pieces explode. The whole process was devoid of strategy with barely any proper etiquette. Something was reassuring listening to the repetition of the turning of a page and the breaking of a stone. It made it easier for Draco to escape his mind and a sense of time. With nothing out the window but the stormy muddy moors and the pounding of the rain on the window thudding like an ancient song, he was lost.

Draco felt a small hand nudge his arm. When his eyes focused on the room, he could see that the trolley had come through from the various wrappers left in the wake of Crabbe and Goyle’s afternoon indulgence. Pansy had decided to leave the Slytherin girls to join his compartment. He could see that in her hand she had bought his favorite tart green apple sweets. He quickly pocketed the treats with a mumbled thank you. Before he could cross his arms again, Pansy had taken his left hand firmly in her grasp.

“Pansy.” Draco sighed. 

“What do you want?” He muttered as he rolled his head to look her over. 

He could tell it had been a morning that she had taken even longer than normal with her regime. She wore his favorite black cotton dress and a necklace he gave her for her last birthday. So, a trite approach was how she wanted to get his attention. He would gamble that she probably spent twice as long preening about her hair. How often she would fret about a single hair being askew in her bob. She loved to play vex when he tucked a strand behind her ear before a stolen kiss. Her sigh interrupted the old memory. She gave a faint smile, but it never reached her coal eyes. He braced for her words; he seen this expression enough to know it was never pleasant. 

“I will miss you this summer.” It was second nature to her to begin to rub the Malfoy heir’s silver signet ring. When they had been dating, he lost count of how many times she had traced the engraved stylized M. He had often wondered if it would be worn away by her when they had studied together. 

“My father owled and forbade me from flooing you—until after the trial…”

Draco's eyes rolled back in his head and turned away from her. He tried to keep in the scoff. Why did she even bother? The halfhearted apologies died on her tongue. Of course, she couldn’t say she was sorry. After weeks of begging for him to take her back; she couldn’t commit to standing by him now. She started rambling and talking in little circles in that pitch he hated. Founders be damned, it was like the buzzing of an insect pestering him. 

“It won’t be long. Everything will go back to normal soon.” 

The Malfoy name was a prize to Pansy. Pureblood courtships were always a strategy game. Unfortunately, Pansy hadn’t determined how much Draco was worth given the change in circumstances. Her family’s public image was more important than her loyalty to him. He was no fool. He had ended things with her. His father had made it clear during the Easter holiday that Mrs. Parkinson had hinted at betrothal negotiations with his mother at their last afternoon tea. Draco had no desire to be engaged before he completed his N.E.W.T. let alone before he had taken his O.W.L.! 

“… your father's previous trial went…”

Merlin, she made him queasy. How naïve could she be? Did she really think his father claiming to be under the imperious curse would work a second time? His father was most likely going to rot in Azkaban for the rest of his limited time after dementors feasted on his soul. He could feel her nails biting desperately trying to tether her to him. It was such a forced attempt to play her bets.

“…worse case I’m sure the Dark Lord will break him out.” She whispered in his ear. 

He went ghastly white and clammy. The feel of her breath on his neck sent a chill down his spine as he flinched at the mention of the Dark Lord. Draco stared ahead fixated on the aged train wall trying to ignore the twisting in his stomach.

“Pansy, I think Nott had been looking for you earlier.” Blaise drawled as he turned the page not even bothering to look up.

“Oh—thank you.” She got up and smooth her hands over her dress as she made her farewells. Draco didn’t care to return any warm goodbyes. 

It felt stifling in the compartment. Draco wasn’t sure how long he sat there. All Draco could focus on was the acid building in his throat. He couldn’t help the way her words about the Dark Lord rolled around in his head. Was it a threat? A wish for salvation for his family? The cost of his father’s freedom would be double his inheritance if the Wizengamot wanted to make an example of his father. Merlin knows the Ministry needed to make a show of strength after the colossal fuck up in the Department of Mysteries. Draco got up and excused himself from the compartment barely registering Crabbe and Goyle’s grunts goodbye.

Draco tried to keep steady on his feet as he made his shaky way down the train corridor. He felt like he would sweat through his shirt. The corridor and the lavatory were empty. Thank Salazar for small miracles. He slammed the door of the loo. When Draco saw himself in the mirror drenched from panic, it was hard to ignore the dark thoughts. What if… Voldemort might only break his father out to only have the pleasure of killing his father—personally. _Slowly_. Draco reached his limit and fell to his knees and chundered. There was a loud crack of thunder and the train seemed to rattle more as the stormed outside intensified. His only hope is just maybe that no one heard him fall apart on the Hogwarts Express. 

Draco felt so pathetic sitting on the floor of the public loo dirtying his charcoal trousers. He listened to the pounding of the rain against the train. At the start, each inhale was a shaky fight for his lungs. He dragged himself to the sink. He could not cry—not here and not now. The sink water was frigidly cold. He splashed it on his face. He could still see that he had slight yellow discoloration from the hex. Unfortunately, he felt a little too colorful. His cheeks and forehead were an unflattering shade of pink. He sneered at how disgusting he felt. He grabbed his wand and scourgified his clothes and took a green apple treat to suck on. It masked the terrible taste in his mouth. 

He opened the door only to find someone waiting in the hall. Draco cursed his bad luck running his hand through his hair. Leaning casually against the wall of the corridor was Granger. It looked like Dumbledore’s charity didn’t even extend to the Gryffindor Princess either; they had made her leave the Hospital Wing with the rest of the students. He hadn’t seen her since she had left with Umbridge that fateful night. In class she was always so boisterous. She had a presence hard to ignore no matter how he tried. She looked smaller to him than usual. Did he always have this many inches on her? It might be because how ridiculously muggle she looked—with one green wellie against the wall instead of the floor where it belonged. Her oversized cream knitted cardigan dwarfed her petite frame. Of course, her curls had seemed to double in the humidity. She had been focused on the worsening storm; lost in her own thoughts. One hand was holding her side where he assumed the spell had hit her and the other clutched the beaded handbag full of potions from Madame Pomfrey. He had expected when she realized it was her least favorite Slytherin that she would gloat. There was plenty she could say to him right now about his family getting what they deserved. Rumor had it she almost died at the Department of Mysteries. He steeled himself for her barbed tongue. Instead, her face softened as she looked him over. That look of compassion in her amber eyes made his blood pressure rise. How dare she pity him like he was some kicked puppy. Draco bit down shattering the green treat between his clench teeth. His expression of annoyance sobered the Golden Girl from the mistake of having sympathy for him. Her eye roll was a welcomed normalcy. 

It was better that way. Neither had any desire to talk to one another knowing it only be a shouting match. They were both too tired to deal with the other. Just four more steps from being separated until September, that is all it would take. 

However, the fates always liked to kick Draco when he was already in deep shite. Lightning had struck too close. The entire train shook from it. The lights went out at the worst possible moment. The collision of the two of them was unavoidable. The thunder rumbled on as Draco’s back slammed against the cold window. It felt like 8 stone punched him in the gut when she collided against him as the clinking of her potions mocked them. Her know-it-all head crashed against his chest as all the air was pushed out his lungs. The pair groaned in pain. Now they were a tangled mess of limbs. His eyes watered from the force his head hit the window. Was that jasmine? The lights flickered as power was restored. He looked down and it was only those maddening curls. They should never be this close.

Fuck—where were his hands? 

His hands flinched away as if they were burned not willing to try to think where the traitors had just been. Granger would pummel him if his hands touched her again. He was too familiar with how hard she punched when angered. Once, was enough for him to learn that lesson from the professor’s pet.

“Oh God, oh no.” She winced and lifted her head to look up at him. He could see the wheels of horror turning behind her amber eyes. 

“Get the fuck off me.” He meant it to be threatening but it sounded too much like a groaned whisper. 

At his words, Granger jolted into action. It was a noble attempt to break for freedom. He moaned from her failed attempt to use his foot as a springboard only for her to collide back against him. He was positive he would be sore tomorrow morning from this.

“I’m so sorry.” She frantically murmured before the next crash of thunder rumbled on.

Draco clenched his eyes shut when he heard her mumble laments of why her. He had to remind himself that it was not worth it to tell her to shut up; he would likely raise his voice. The last thing either of them wanted was for anyone to discover them in this state. This should have been a simple fix. She just needed to step back and not on his foot for the second—make that the third time. Gryffindors were hazardous to his health. 

Draco soon realized her blasted cardigan was the enemy frustrating their attempt to separate from one another. Why was she wearing enough wool for someone twice her size? Are all Gryffindor’s morally opposed to tailors or just the ones that had personal vendettas against him? One half was under his left shoulder blade and the other end of knitted cream wool was caught on the metal of his belt buckle. She was at the point she would risk ripping her cardigan to flee. Granger’s rigorous attempt to pull the damn thing free almost made him stumble as she jerked him by the waist. Draco was not willing to be back to stage one on the other side of the wall with him pressed against her. 

“Stop.” He demanded as he firmly grabbed both her wrists in his right hand.

“Before someone bloody sees.” He gritted through clenched teeth. 

She finally froze. Her eyes seeming to stare through him. Probably praying for the nightmare to be over, he supposed. He let go of her and made short work of unhooking his belt and freeing metal from the knitted knot. The entire time he was cursing under his breath as he felt her eyes on him. He should count himself lucky that in her panic she hadn’t grabbed his dragonhide belt or the level of mortification would have been unbearable. 

“Mal--”

“Not a word, Granger” He threatened pointing a finger in her direction silencing her. 

Her skin was attempting to show Gryffindor pride by turning red. He stepped back from her before he pivoted to storm down the corridor. 

“That prat.” She was struggling to keep her annoyance from bubbling over. 

He heard the door of the loo slam shut from her frustration. He wanted to get away from her as soon as possible. He clenched his right hand tightly and wished Granger had remained in the muggle world. Damn, his life would be easier if she had. He wondered if he sprained his wrist in the tumble from the sting he felt in his right hand. He used his left to open the compartment door as he tried to shake the feeling out. 

“Feeling better?” Blaise raised an eyebrow looking over the state of Draco’s disheveled appearance. 

“…hmmm?” Draco questioned as he looked down his nose at Blaise’s growing grin.

“Did you find a Hufflepuff to shag?” Both of Blaise's eyebrows went up in jest when Draco sat down in the corner across from him. 

“Stuff it, Zabini.” Draco was not amused at such an unfounded joke at his expense as he heard Goyle and Crabbe start chuckling. 

“Poor bird; that didn’t take very long.” Goyle snidely added.

Draco looked over in absolute betrayal. He was getting sassed from Goyle. Gregory Goyle—the one too scared to even string three words in response to Bulstrode—dared to criticize Draco Malfoy’s stamina. Crabbe only started to cackle louder. The audacity of these arseholes.

“You might want to buckle your belt, mate, before Pansy gets jealous.” Blaise snickered at the blonde’s expense. 

Blaise saved Draco from knocking Crabbe and Goyle’s heads together to shut them up. Draco glanced down and saw his belt mocking him. In his hurry to escape Granger, he had left it unbuckled.

“Fuck!” Draco cursed in frustration as he righted his attire. He then dusted off his shirt trying to wipe any other evidence from his collision with the bossy witch. 

“Apparently.” Blaise snorted in laughter as Draco halfheartedly kicked at his friend’s shin. 

The laughter was contagious. For just a moment their compartment felt normal. Like they could just be average teenage wizards ready for a well-deserved summer break. It was nice to have a respite from the overwhelming dread. Just a small moment to forget they were four young men frighten to go home.

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I decided to try to get an extra chapter out in honor of Valentine's day. Cheers to the readers regardless of single or taken. Don't forget to treat yourself. 
> 
> To J and Tanacetum_parthenium I appreciate the for the words of encouragement! 
> 
> I hope you all continue to enjoy and thank you for taking the time to read my silly little fan fic. 
> 
> Thanks!  
> B


	3. How

# Chapter 3: How

* * *

The neon green flash dissipated as he stepped out of the grand fireplace. Draco quickly glanced around the ornate room. It was empty and his steps echoed on the stone floor. With a pop, his mother’s house elf greeted him. Tilley looked more terrified than Draco had ever seen. Draco wordlessly put his trunk down near the hearth. He had foolishly hoped his mother would be waiting for him. He had so many questions for her about what was happening with his father. It bothered him that it appeared that only the house elf seemed to care enough to greet him. 

“Mistress is in the study, young Master.” She vanished with his trunk. 

Draco raised an eyebrow once he processed what the little house elf had said. It was unusual for his mother to venture into his father’s study. He didn’t even think anyone could enter that room without Lucius being present. The study had been the most guarded room in the manor. It had been passed as the sanctuary of each Lord Malfoy as long as Wilshire had been the ancestral home. Lucius only granted entrance to the most important of associates. Draco had never even been given permission to cross over the threshold. Every time he had searched for his father there either his mother or a house elf had chased him from the carved mahogany French doors. Only the flickering of firelight burning under the door frame gave hint if his father had elected to spend his evening away from the family in that room. 

It was unsettling to see both doors open. Draco soon realized that one of the doors had been broken from its hinge and rested against the door frame while the other swung open to its absolute limit. He should have been prepared from the state of the doors what the rest of the room looked like. The destruction was absolute chaos. The room was littered by broken items, scrolls of parchments, books, and even a piece of furniture turned over. Did the Aurors really need to tear the room apart or did they just delight in making his family suffer? Draco’s thoughts were interrupted when he saw his mother. She was slouched comatose in a large armchair near the dwindling fire. 

“Mother?” Draco’s voice was caught in his throat; he rushed over and knelt next to her. 

His mother had not even flinched when he had called out for her. Her blue eyes were open but unfocused. In a panic, Draco checked her pulse. He couldn’t lose his mother too. Thank Merlin. His whole body relaxed and released a sigh of relief when he confirmed it was steadily beating beneath her delicate wrist. 

_Clap… Clap… Clap…_

Draco drew his wand and whipped around trying to hide his fear. He hadn’t realize that they weren’t alone. The slow mocking applause had come from behind his father’s desk. Weathered black leather boots had been kicked up resting on the top of the broken desk. Bellatrix Lestrange had made herself at home in the destruction. A wicked smile blossomed on her face as she started to laugh.

“Awe, if it isn’t my favorite nephew.” She swung her feet down knocking down another trinket that crashed to the floor in pieces.

“What is wrong with my Mother?” Draco's eyes followed Bellatrix as he lowered his wand. He had only met this woman once in his life before and the mad look in her eyes had terrified him. 

As she came around the desk, she tossed him a glass vial she retrieved from her frayed dress robe pocket. Draco’s seeker’s reflexes made it easy enough to grab it even with his non dominant hand. He examined the empty bottle. Only some blue residue remained. The label read Calming Draught in Professor’s Snape scrawl. At least, Draco could be relieved in the knowledge that the potion was brewed properly even if Bellatrix over prescribed the elixir to his mother. He heard Bellatrix tsking at him like he was a small child caught trying to take biscuits before dinner. 

“Poor Cissy’s nerves. Her darling little boy being summoned for the first time.” Bellatrix shook her head with a hand over her heart mocking her drugged sister. 

“Summoned?” Draco gulped unable to hide the concern in his voice. He watched as his aunt grabbed two cloaks from an unleveled broken wardrobe near the door. 

“Yes!” Bellatrix hissed in glee as she tossed one of the cloaks to him. “The Dark Lord is expecting you. So exciting!”

Voldemort was expecting him? He felt like he just plunged into a frozen lake. Draco had never even seen the Dark Lord in person. He was a distant legend; not a man Draco had expected to meet personally—not tonight. Draco numbly put on a stranger's cloak trying to keep his fingers from shaking. He stared at the crazed escaped convict as she dramatically swayed around the room as she put on her Death Eater attire. Draco focused on trying to memorize the design of the filagree of her Death Eater mask. 

“Come here! Come to Auntie Bella! We mustn’t keep the Dark Lord waiting!” She had her arms wide open like a hug beckoning him to come closer like he was a stupid pet dog. 

Draco stiffly walked over to her. He said a prayer that she didn’t splinch him on their trip to hell.

“Good boy!” Her patronizing laugh was the last thing he heard before the magic of sidelong apparition began to rip him away from Malfoy Manor. 

Draco dry heaved when his feet made contact with solid ground. The incident on the train had kept him from vomiting on his arrival to the Death Eater meeting. The smell of decay and filth made him want to gag again. His aunt had abandoned him and was lost in the group of cloaked mask figures. Their focus had been on the poor muggle woman on the floor. The middle age brunette was shaking in pain from the malicious spell work draining her of will and life. If only he had the ability to apparate back home before anyone noticed him. However, he was underage and had no hope to get away. In his attempt to spot a door, Draco’s eyes found the ghastly red eyes of the leader. Voldemort was lounging in a high back chair. His presence was frightening. He seemed unconcerned as his tight wand work inflicted more pain on the helpless woman on the floor. Draco had not been prepared for the sheer size of the large snake that was curled around the legs of the chair. It was gruesome to watch the snake’s tongue flicking out to taste the air in the direction of the muggle. Draco tucked his head down and just hope that this meeting would not last long. Draco had been shifting slowly backwards hoping to find a way to escape or anything to hide behind. 

One of the cloak figures came towards Voldemort. They waited patiently for a simple hand jester giving permission to come forward. The follower curtseyed deeply before coming to whisper into the Dark Lord’s ear. The exchange had ended with Bellatrix lifting her mask to place a kiss upon a ring on Voldemort’s hand. 

“It appears our guest has finally arrived.” There was a hush that blanketed the crowd when Voldemort spoke. 

Draco felt like he would choke on his own saliva. The rest of the crowd was full of Death Eaters’ masks. It didn’t take much deduction skills to realize that the Heir of Slytherin was referring to him.

“Come forward, Draco Malfoy.” Voldemort’s ghastly white knobby fingers beckoned Draco to take center stage.

The floorboards were not level. As Draco made his way to the front of the room, his sole snagged on a creaking board. He caught his balance before he made a complete arse of himself. However, a few chuckles at his expense rippled through the crowd with his jerky steps. It was easy to see the annoyance flickering in the red glare trained on Draco. He hesitated when he became level with the broken gasping muggle woman. Draco felt a swift hard kick at the back of his knees. He collapsed forward. His knees roughly hit the floor. The charcoal trousers tore on the rough wooden slabs. His hands stung as splinters bit into his palm when he caught himself. Draco felt the hood of the cloak being ripped back exposing his face to the crowd and forcing his head back up to see the most terrifying dark wizard. 

“Draco, I must say, I am very disappointed.” Voldemort arose from his makeshift throne with Nagini slithering after her master.

“Your father spoke so highly of your ability and resolve for the cause.” His red snakelike gaze was unwavering on Draco as he made his way closer. 

“With the actions of you and your father, I am left wondering if the Malfoy name should be stripped from the honor of being one of the Sacred Twenty-Eight families?” Voldemort paused analyzing every movement Draco made like he was a puzzle to solve.

“Are you a blood traitor, Draco?” Voldemort hissed in Draco’s ear as spindly fingers grabbed the back of Draco’s head. Draco trembled in fear at his touch. 

Draco shook his head “no” as he was unable to find his voice. Then the pressure began to build in his mind. Voldemort had used legilimency to find his answers. The magic was harsh and unforgiving as the Dark Lord ripped through Draco’s memories. It was a vicious hunt to find something in particular. When Voldemort found the evening before the incident at the Department of Mysteries, the shame was outweighed by the pain. Draco would swear that his mind was burning. 

“So, it was just incompetence allowing blood traitors and half-bloods to escape.” Voldemort looked out to his followers with a sneer.

When the spell had ended, Draco was left with a migraine that made his vision water. No one had ever done that to Draco. He had never felt so afraid or vulnerable in his life. He didn’t think his head could ever experience this level of pain. Why did he ever join the Inquisitorial Squad? Why was he the only one being punished for the whole’s Squad failing? He just wanted some recognition from his father and the Ministry. Did his father already promise him to Voldemort? Draco was unprepared for the Dark Lord’s wrath. 

“I….mma sorrrry…” Draco struggled over his words hoping he could pacify the maniac before him.

“Yes.” Voldemort drew out his response.

“I know you are.” Voldemort reached out and put a hand on Draco’s shoulder. How the Dark Lord could twist something that usually sparked reassurance to be a hint of the terror to come was beyond Draco’s comprehension. 

“When one fails their brethren, I must ensure you atone for your sins. Your father is unfortunately unavailable and you added in the failure at the Department of Mysteries. So, Draco, name each pureblood family you put in danger that night.” Voldemort addressed the crowd as he started to circle around Draco. 

Draco was confused but he remembered the names of the arrests that were in the paper. 

“Avery?” Draco hated how timid his voice sounded. He was unsure what the Dark Lord wanted from him. 

There was a harsh crack that echoed in the room from Voldemort’s quick spell work. Draco was unable to stop his scream of agony. Voldemort had smashed his pinky finger with an offensive hex. It was quickly discoloring as Draco held his right wrist to try to ease the pain. 

“Continue.” Voldemort was eerily calm. 

“Crab---be.” Draco winced out naively hoping that the pain would stop. However, the sound of the second finger shattering made him unable to stop crying. 

“Dolohov.” Draco was panting in pain and pushed the next name through gritted teeth as his tears rushed down his redden face. 

The next finger was broken and all hope was gone. 

“Jug—son.” Draco’s sobs and cries were ignored by everyone. Not even his aunt was going to help him. The only sounds in the room were from Draco and the broken muggle beside him. No one cared that their Dark Lord enjoyed torturing an underage wizard.

Another snap echoed through the room. 

“Lestrange.” Draco watched in horror as every finger on his right hand was wrecked. He could not hold a wand even if he tried to escape now. How could he have been so stupid to follow Bellatrix to the slaughter?

“Please…” Draco couldn’t say the rest of his pleas to stop. He couldn’t take any more. 

“Do not keep me waiting.” Voldemort threatened as he had a visceral reaction that Draco would dare to stop the demonstration. 

“Mac air...ulciber.” Draco mumbled the next two names together trying to get it over with. 

Unfortunately, Voldemort had no sympathy and Draco’s left thumb and index were crushed at the same time. He was gulping for air choking on snot from crying so hard. 

“Nnnnott.” Draco’s voice cracked when the next spell hit. 

“Rook…ood.” He wasn’t sure if Voldemort could even understand what he was saying anymore. Draco was hoarse. Each syllable was harder to push out as his vocal cords were being strained too much. 

“Tr…avers.” Draco had curled in a ball. Both hands tucked to his chest. Every finger was broken. All of them throbbing at different rates. 

“One more, boy.” Voldemort chided him. 

Draco gulped and was unsure who else. He flinched when he felt Nagini’s tongue flick out to taste a tear. Of course, how could he forget. How did that saying go? The one about the sins of the father.

“Malfoy. Draco whimpered his own surname.

He was too scared of what Voldemort would break next since he was out of fingers. Would he just break his neck and put him out of his misery?

“Crucio.”

Draco had thought he was in agony before, but it was nothing to the feeling spreading throughout his entire body. He felt like he ripped his vocal cords because he tried to scream and nothing came out. It was just a delirium of torment. He would rather break all his fingers over again than feel this spell ripping through him a second more. He didn’t even think the fire of the sun could burn this thoroughly. His ears were ringing when the spell finally stopped. Draco fought to keep his eyes open as he felt Nagini slither over his legs to the muggle woman. But soon it was just blackness that engulfed him, he didn’t have energy to fight. He could not even hear the words being spoken around him. He felt two sets of hands drag his body off the ground. Too soon he felt the awful pull and they were gone. His body could take no more and he passed out in an unknown cell.

It was the dull throbbing in each finger that had dragged Draco back into consciousness. He had collapse in the dungeon of some pureblood’s estate. Which one he wasn’t sure; it wasn’t like there was a need to have an engraved family crest in this area of the house. When he first woke, there had been a full wooden goblet. His attempt to bring the liquid to his mouth with his wrists had only served to spill the water all down his charcoal shirt and trousers. Oh the irony, to be absolutely parched but wearing damp clothes. His hands were useless. He couldn’t even retrieve his wand let alone cast a decent spell at the moment. Instead, Draco was just left alone in his misery. 

He wasn’t sure how long he had been out. There wasn’t a way to really mark the passing of time where he was anyway. Draco was helpless. Every nerve had felt burned by the unforgivable curse. The most comfort he could find was to rest on his back with his swollen hands kept close to his chest. The stone floor seemed to syphon any warmth away. So only the burning throbbing remained in his mutilated hands. But just the thought of pressing his hands to the stone seemed an impossible feat. 

Draco pondered over dark thoughts about his future. What did his aunt tell his mother when she had returned without him? Did they tell her he was dead? Did they plan to kill him? Would he be forgotten here? His father only came to the rescue when the Malfoy name was at stake. Lucius fucked their reputation and could never help Draco while imprisoned in Azkaban. Draco knew he wouldn’t escape from here. He was robbed of any physical strength and had two broken hands. Salazar, they were absolutely disgusting swollen, purple and unmovable. To be a wizard who couldn’t even hold a wand—he was a disgrace. He was nothing. His thoughts had been interrupted by the appearance of two masked Death Eaters. It was apparent that these two wizards had come to collect him. However, who was behind those masks Draco had no idea.

Draco dry heaved when the spell had transported them to a secluded meadow. He didn’t see any sign of civilization in the distance. Only the surrounding woods to his left. It was dusk. The sky was a blaze of warm pinks. He once thought pink was such a non-threatening color. After the year he had he knew better. The two Death Eaters roughly shoved Draco down. He winced. He tried to remember that the grass was softer than the stone of his cell. However, it was hard to ignore the jarring of his hands. 

“Petrificus Totalus.”

Draco stiffen and fell back. He heard them walk away in the grass. It appeared they had left brooms in the field as he saw them hover over ahead as the stars slowly became to appear against the darkening sky. Draco was beyond frighten. He could feel insects crawl around him and couldn’t brush them away. Only his eyes remain unfrozen from the spell. He focused on the two Death Eaters keeping guard. The pair became more on edge from every sound coming from the woods. Draco prayed for someone to have pity on him and let him return home. 

Draco was left wondering why he even bothered with worthless prayers when more brooms appeared. Each new figure blocked him from gazing at familiar constellations. The chill that ran down his spine when he saw Voldemort fly through the sky. It was then that he realized that someone had released his muscles from the spell. Draco rolled up using his elbow to try to get himself to kneel before Voldemort. He knew he had nowhere to run; he was surrounded. 

“Good evening!” Voldemort was silhouetted by the full moon as he hovered above the meadow. 

“You bore your punishment well, Draco.” The mockery in the tone was transparent. 

Draco looked down at his broken hands and didn’t understand how the lunatic had enjoyed the torture he inflicted. Why did the Dark Lord do this to him? It wasn’t fair. 

“Are you loyal to the cause?” Voldemort’s tone was patronizing, and it cause Draco to grow colder. 

“Will you join us and accept my leadership to bring about a better Wizarding World?”

Draco wanted to vomit. Was he asking him to make the oath of a Death Eater? Draco didn’t want to sign up for this torture for the rest of his life. To bind his fate with Voldemort was madness. But, to refuse him? Draco knew Voldemort would Avada him for the insolence. The Dark Lord would leave him in the grass to decompose. Draco didn’t want to die. Why did he ever come home? Draco was choking on his breath shaking in fear. Voldemort interpreted Draco’s response to mean an affirmative. 

“Raise your left arm, Draco.” The Dark Lord demanded. 

He cursed himself for ever wondering if he would be granted this honor in his naïve dreams to impress his father. He didn’t want to be a Death Eater; but his body betrayed his mind as he stretched his arm out. 

“I reward loyalty as justly as I reprimand failure. We are the best and I demand you do your best for our better tomorrow. I want all of you to bear witness to my promise. If you fail me and escape that justice the consequences of your actions will affect your line—forever.” Voldemort smirked down at Draco. 

Fuck! Draco was positive the wizard would kill him. One flash of green and this hell would all be over. Draco could not fight the sobs that shook him. His eyes never left the wand in Voldemort’s hand. Draco never thought the threat was on the ground. He didn’t even see his doom as it came sprinting through the grass. The monster’s fangs latched deeply into his left forearm. The bite felt like molten lava had been injected into Draco’s soul. The force of the collision of wizard and beast had dislocated his shoulder as the sharp claws tore into his abdomen. Voldemort had decided to feed him to a werewolf. Greyback flung Draco across the field. Draco hit his head against a stone. He felt like he was bleeding from everywhere.

“Enough! I want his mother to be able to recognize the boy.” Voldemort cast a spell to keep the werewolf from coming closer. 

It was so cruel. Draco was in absolute agony. The pain would end with death. Voldemort would not even give Draco the satisfaction of a quick death. No, he was coughing on blood and listening to Greyback snarling in the distance as he prowled annoyed his feast was interrupted. The pain was unbearable and the fire in Draco’s veins kept traveling up his arm. He heard the werewolf howl and then scamper into the woods to find more exciting prey to hunt. Draco was beyond the point of understanding what was occurring around him. All he had was the howl ringing in his ears and a threat of death beating in his heart. 

“If you wish my Lord, I’ll take him back to Malfoy Manor.” Severus Snape voiced after the werewolf had gone. 

“Thank you, Severus. See to it.” Voldemort was unconcerned as he and many of the others vanished into the night.

Snape made quick work to touch down to the ground and scoop Draco up in his arms. It was dangerous to apparate with Draco in such dire condition, but there was no other way. Draco had lost consciousness. Draco’s complexion was fading beyond pale. Time was no longer on Draco’s side. The second Snape appeared in the Malfoy Manor Narcissa sprung from her chair.

“Severus! Bring him to the dining room table. Here!” Narcissa franticly looked over the pair covered in Draco’s blood. 

Snape placed Draco on the table and went to grab his bag of potions he had left in her care before joining the meeting. Narcissa quickly charmed the bloody shirt off her son to get a better look at his injuries. It was a gruesome sight.

“He lost a lot of blood. We might be too late.” Snape informed as he forced the first potion down Draco’s throat. 

“I won’t lose my son, Severus!” Narcissa’s demand only got a quick nod from Snape as a response. 

The pair of them were no strangers to terrible wounds from their youths during Voldemort’s first reign of terror. They made quick work. Different potions and spells were used all to stop Draco from losing any more blood. Narcissa focused on mending each finger as Snape grabbed his mortar and pestle. A small vital of powdered silver was poured in the grey marble mortar. He next grabbed the dark green dittany that been freshly cut and waiting in a vase next to the buffet near the table. Snape created an unappealing metallic paste. He applied liberally to the bite and the gouges on Draco’s side. Narcissa followed behind wrapping the wounds tightly with bandages. When there was nothing more they could do Snape flopped down into a chair that had been pushed aside to give them more room to work earlier.

“The rest is on Draco.” Snape scourified the blood off his robes while Narcissa ran a gentle hand over her only child’s sleeping bandaged brow. 

“Tilley.” Narcissa called out. 

“Yes, Mistress!” The tiny house elf appeared looking wary at the sight on the dining room table.

“Would you care for something to drink, Severus?” Narcissa asked politely as if they hadn’t been racing against the clock to keep Draco from dying. 

“Yes, thank you.” Snape was exhausted.

“Tilley bring the firewhiskey. Or do you want tea instead?” Narcissa’s question got a chuckle from Severus as he shook his head no.

“Two glasses then, Tilley.” Narcissa smiled faintly at her. 

The house elf popped back with a tray of the firewhiskey bottle and two glasses. Narcissa poured a respectable amount for Severus and handed him the glass. He just slammed the drink back not caring what year or how much Lucius had spent on the bottle. Snape stretched his neck trying to ease the tension of the evening. Narcissa's face was unreadable as she quickly served herself double the amount in her glass. She delicately sat down next to Draco. Her left hand held his newly reset hand as she slowly sipped the amber liquid. Her eyes were just focused on Draco’s chest. She was so thankful to see it slowly rise and fall. He had stopped thrashing during their work. Now it was a matter of time to allow the potions to run through his system. 

“Draco may not forgive you for this.” Snape drawled as he interrupted the quiet. He got up and he put the glass back on the tray

“I don’t care.” Narcissa was absolute. 

Snape pondered over the situation and shook his head to himself. He started to collect his things from around the table.

“You should be able to move him to his bed in a few hours. I am not sure how long he will sleep. I will come back with more potions, but these should get you through tomorrow.”

Narcissa stood and handed Severus a bag full of coins that had been in her dress pocket. Snape glared at the coin purse but Narcissa stopped him before he started to complain.

“You’re the only one I trust to brew his wolfsbane. This should be enough to start to get all the supplies. Thank you for helping my family.”

There was no way to reverse the damage done by the bite. They all knew that Draco’s fever from Greyback’s poison was forever altering him. Draco’s path was forever changed. He was not just the heir to the Malfoy dynasty. He was cursed. Draco Malfoy was a werewolf. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello there!
> 
> I was incredibly mean to Draco in this chapter. This is one of the darker chapters for me. Hopefully you will forgive me and continue to enjoy how this develops. Thank you all for giving this story a chance. I appreciate all the kudos! 
> 
> Thanks!  
> B

**Author's Note:**

> Hello there! 
> 
> This idea had been kicking around in my brain during quarantine. I have been challenged by my supportive beta to take the plunge and try my hand at this, especially since I finally remembered my password for this account after 5 years. (Shamefully hides eyes from looking at my abandoned story). My rough outline makes me feel I have bitten off more than I can chew. My goal is to upload once a month; the joys of cruddy responsibilities make this probably the most realistic goal. I struggle with editing...but the two Slytherins in my life are aware of this goal. **nervous laughter at accountability**
> 
> The spice factor on anything is so personalized based on individual tolerance levels. This wont be sugar but this definitely wont be ghost peppers here either. My goal is not to make you sad every update but there will be some pretty angsty moments full of blood, sweat, and tears from physical and emotional trauma. If that is something that makes you uncomfortable totally understand. You are a wonderful person. Recommend good fluff so I may become a better person. It is pretty apparent that I curse like a sailor and the ship has sailed for you to wash my mouth out with soap. Between you and I, I am going to let you know I have no confidence in writing smut. I will cross that bridge when its time. If and when that effects the rating it will be updated. I think that covers the basis of rating. 
> 
> I am trying to figure this whole tag thing out. When I started reading I feel like there was only what 10? I am totally not intimated... 
> 
> These are all the mad thoughts of me day dreaming the what ifs that JK has left me pondering over the years. Enjoy the clichés of my mad imagination. Im not sure if we still remind everyone that we arent JK and have obviously no claims here...
> 
> Aquila is a bird constellation. The internet tells me its Latin for eagle. It seemed like something Narcissa Malfoy would do. 
> 
> I hope you enjoy. It is a true compliment that you used your free time to read thus far. 
> 
> Thanks!  
> B


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